The Lost Prince (2 page)

This semester, I’d be going to a new school, a new location. A place I could “start clean,” but it wouldn’t matter. As long as I could see the fey, they would never leave me alone. All I could do was protect myself and my family, and hope I wouldn’t end up hurting anyone else.

Mom was at the kitchen table when I came out, waiting for me. Dad wasn’t around. He worked the graveyard shift at UPS and often slept till the middle of the afternoon. Usually, I’d see him only at dinner and on weekends. That’s not to say he was happily oblivious when it came to my life; Mom might know me better, but Dad had no problem doling out punishments if he thought I was slacking, or if Mom complained. I’d gotten one
D in science two years ago, and it was the last bad grade I’d ever received.

“Big day,” Mom greeted me as I tossed the backpack on the counter and opened the fridge, reaching for the orange juice. “Are you sure you know the way to your new school?”

I nodded. “I’ve got it set to my phone’s GPS. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitated. I knew she didn’t want me driving there alone, even though I’d worked my butt off saving up for a car. The rusty, gray-green pickup sitting next to Dad’s truck in the driveway represented an entire summer of work—flipping burgers, washing dishes, mopping up spilled drinks and food and vomit. It represented weekends spent working late, watching other kids my age hanging out, kissing girlfriends, tossing away money like it fell from the sky. I’d
earned
that truck, and I certainly wasn’t going to take the freaking bus to school.

But because Mom was watching me with that sad, almost fearful look on her face, I sighed and muttered, “Do you want me to call you when I get there?”

“No, honey.” Mom straightened, waving it off. “It’s all right, you don’t have to do that. Just…please be careful.”

I heard the unspoken words in her voice.
Be careful of
Them
. Don’t attract their attention. Don’t let Them get you into trouble. Try to stay in school this time.

“I will.”

She hovered a moment longer, then placed a quick peck on my cheek and wandered into the living room, pretending to be busy. I drained my juice, poured another glass, and opened the fridge to put the container back.

As I closed the door, a magnet slipped loose and pinged to the floor, and the note it was holding fluttered to the ground.
Kali demonstration, Sat.
, it read. I picked it up, and I let myself feel a tiny bit nervous. I’d started taking kali, a Filipino martial art, several years ago, to better protect myself from the things I knew were out there. I was drawn to kali because not only did it teach how to defend yourself empty-handed, it also taught stick, knife and sword work. And in a world of dagger-toting goblins and sword-wielding gentry, I wanted to be ready for anything. This weekend, our class was putting on a demonstration at a martial arts tournament, and I was part of the show.

If I could stay out of trouble that long, anyway. With me, it was always harder than it looked.

* * *

Starting a new school in the middle of the fall semester sucks.

I should know. I’ve done all this before. The struggle to find your locker, the curious stares in the hallway, the walk of shame to your desk in your new classroom, twenty or so pairs of eyes following you down the aisle.

Maybe third time’s the charm,
I thought morosely, slumping into my seat, which, thankfully, was in the far corner. I felt the heat from two dozen stares on the top of my head and ignored them all.
Maybe this time I can make it through a semester without getting expelled. One more year—just give me one more year and then I’m free.
At least the teacher didn’t stand me up at the front of the room and introduce me to everyone; that would’ve been awkward. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they thought such humiliation was necessary. It was hard enough to fit in without having a spotlight turned on you the first day.

Not that I’d be doing any “fitting in.”

I continued to feel curious glances directed at my corner, and I concentrated on not looking up, not making eye contact with anyone. I heard people whispering and hunched down even more, studying the cover of my English book.

Something landed on my desk: a half sheet of notebook paper, folded into a square. I didn’t look up, not wanting to know who’d lobbed it at me. Slipping it beneath the desk, I opened it in my lap and looked down.

U the guy who burned down his school?
it read in messy handwriting.

Sighing, I crumpled the note in my fist. So they’d already heard the rumors. Perfect. Apparently, I’d been in the local paper: a juvenile thug who was seen fleeing the scene of the crime. But because no one had actually
witnessed
me setting the library on fire, I was able to avoid being sent to jail. Barely.

I caught giggles and whispers somewhere to my right, and then another folded piece of paper hit my arm. Annoyed, I was going to trash the note without reading it this time, but curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked quickly.

Did u really knife that guy in Juvie?

“Mr. Chase.”

Miss Singer was stalking down the aisle toward me, her severe expression making her face look pinched behind her glasses. Or maybe that was just the dark, tight bun pulling at her skin, causing her eyes to narrow. Her bracelets clinked as she extended her hand and waggled her fingers at me. Her tone was no-nonsense. “Let’s have it, Mr. Chase.”

I held up the note in two fingers, not looking at her. She snatched it from my hand. After a moment, she murmured, “See me after class.”

Damn. Thirty minutes into a new semester and I was already in trouble. This didn’t bode well for the rest of the year. I slumped farther, hunching my shoulders against all prying eyes, as Miss Singer returned to the front and continued the lesson.

* * *

I remained in my seat after class was dismissed, listening to the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling bodies, bags being tossed over shoulders. Voices surged around me, students talking and laughing with each other, gelling into their own little groups. As they began to file out, I finally looked up, letting my gaze wander over the few still lingering. A blond boy with glasses stood at Miss Singer’s desk, rambling on while she listened with calm amusement. From the eager, puppy-dog look in his eyes, it was clear he was either suffering from major infatuation or was gunning for teacher’s pet.

A group of girls stood by the door, clustered like pigeons, cooing and giggling. I saw several of the guys staring at them as they left, hoping to catch their eye, only to be disappointed. I snorted softly.
Good luck with that.
At least three of the girls were blonde, slender and beautiful, and a couple wore extremely short skirts that gave a fantastic view of their long, tanned legs. This was obviously the school’s pom squad, and guys like me—or anyone who wasn’t a jock or rich—had no chance.

And then, one of the girls turned and looked right at me.

I glanced away, hoping that no one noticed. Cheerleaders, I’d discovered, usually dated large, overly protective football stars whose policy was punch first, ask questions later. I did not want to find myself pressed up against my locker or a bathroom stall on my first day, about to get my face smashed in, because I’d had the gall to look at the quarterback’s girlfriend. I heard more whispers, imagined fingers pointed my way, and then a chorus of shocked squeaks and gasps reached my corner.

“She’s really going to do it,” someone hissed, and then footsteps padded across the room. One of the girls had broken away from the pack and was approaching me. Wonderful.

Go away,
I thought, shifting farther toward the wall.
I have nothing you want or need. I’m not here so you can prove that you’re not scared of the tough new kid, and I do not want to get in a fight with your meathead boyfriend. Leave me alone.

“Hi.”

Resigned, I turned and stared into the face of a girl.

She was shorter than the others, more perky and cute than graceful and beautiful. Her long, straight hair was inky-black, though she had dyed a few strands around her face a brilliant sapphire. She wore sneakers and dark jeans, tight enough to hug her slender legs, but not looking like she’d painted them on. Warm brown eyes peered down at me as she stood with her hands clasped behind her, shifting from foot to foot, as if it was impossible for her to stay still.

“Sorry about the note,” she continued, as I shifted back to eye her warily. “I told Regan not to do it—Miss Singer has eyes like a hawk. We didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” She smiled, and it lit up the room. My heart sank; I didn’t want it to light up the room. I didn’t want to notice anything about this girl, especially the fact that she was extremely attractive. “I’m Kenzie. Well,
Mackenzie
is my full name, but everyone calls me Kenzie.
Don’t
call me Mac or I’ll slug you.”

Behind her, the rest of the girls gaped and whispered to each other, shooting us furtive glances. I suddenly felt like some kind of exhibit at the zoo. Resentment simmered. I was just a curiosity to them; the dangerous new kid to be stared at and gossiped about.

“And…you are…?” Kenzie prompted.

I looked away. “Not interested.”

“Okay. Wow.” She sounded surprised, but not angry, not yet. “That’s…not what I was expecting.”

“Get used to it.” Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my own voice. I was being a dick; I was fully aware of that. I was also fully aware that I was murdering any hope for acceptance in this place. You didn’t talk this way to a cute, popular cheerleader without becoming a social pariah. She would go back to her friends, and they would gossip, and more rumors would spread, and I’d be shunned for the rest of the year.

Good,
I thought, trying to convince myself.
That’s what I want. No one gets hurt this way. Everyone can just leave me alone.

Except…the girl wasn’t leaving. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lean back and cross her arms, still with that lopsided grin on her face. “No need to be nasty,” she said, seeming unconcerned with my aggressiveness. “I’m not asking for a date, tough guy, just your name.”

Why was she still talking to me? Wasn’t I making myself clear? I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to answer her questions. The longer I spoke to anyone, the greater the chance that
They
would notice, and then the nightmare would begin again. “It’s Ethan,” I muttered, still staring at the wall. I forced the next words out. “Now piss off.”

“Huh. Well, aren’t we hostile.” My words were not having the effect I wanted. Instead of driving her off, she seemed almost…excited. What the hell? I resisted the urge to glance at her, though I still felt that smile, directed at me. “I was just trying to be nice, seeing as it’s your first day and all. Are you like this with everyone you meet?”

“Miss St. James.” Our teacher’s voice cut across the room. Kenzie turned, and I snuck a peek at her. “I need to speak with Mr. Chase,” Miss Singer continued, smiling at Kenzie. “Go to your next class, please.”

Kenzie nodded. “Sure, Miss Singer.” Glancing back, she caught me looking at her and grinned before I could look away. “See ya around, tough guy.”

I watched her bounce back to her friends, who surrounded her, giggling and whispering. Sneaking unsubtle glances back at me, they filed through the door into the hall, leaving me alone with the teacher.

“Come here, Mr. Chase, if you would. I don’t want to shout at you over the classroom.”

I pulled myself up and walked down the aisle to slouch into a front-row desk. Miss Singer’s sharp black eyes watched me over her glasses before she launched into a lecture about her no-tolerance policy for horseplay, and how she understood my situation, and how I could make something of myself if I just focused. As if that was all there was to it.

Thanks, but you might as well save your breath
.
I’ve heard this all before. How difficult it must be, moving to a new school, starting over. How bad my life at home must be. Don’t act like you know what I’m going through. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about my life. No one does.

If I had any say in it, no one ever would.

* * *

I got through my next two classes the same way—by ignoring everyone around me. When lunchtime rolled around, I watched the students filing down the hall toward the cafeteria, then turned and went in the opposite direction.

My fellow classmates were starting to get to me. I wanted to be outside, away from the crowds and curious looks. I didn’t want to be trapped at a table by myself, dreading that someone would come up and “talk.” No one would do it to be friendly, I was fairly certain. By now, that girl and her friends had probably spread the story of our first meeting through the whole school, maybe embellishing a few things, like how I called her awful names but somehow came on to her at the same time. Regardless, I didn’t want to deal with angry boyfriends and indignant questions. I wanted to be left alone.

I turned a corner into another hall, intent on finding an isolated part of the school where I could eat in peace, and stumbled across the very thing I was trying to avoid.

A boy stood with his back to the lockers, thin shoulders hunched, his expression sullen and trapped. Standing in front of him were two larger boys, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, leering down at the kid they had pinned against the wall. For a second, I thought the kid had whiskers. Then he looked at me, quietly pleading, and through a mop of straw-colored hair, I caught a flash of orange eyes and two furred ears poking up from his head.

I swore. Quietly, using a word Mom would tear my head off for. These two idiots had no idea what they were doing. They couldn’t See what he really was, of course. The “human” they had cornered was one of Them, one of the fey, or at least part fey. The term
half-breed
shot through my mind, and I clenched my fist around my lunch bag. Why? Why couldn’t I ever be free of them? Why did they dog me every step of my life?